Finding Montana

Backstory on Backtrails

Over the last few days, I've started making a conscious effort to take exploratory walks around my new neighborhood. I've discovered that my house has a direct trail venturing to two different hiking paths, one leads to Whitefish lake and the other is longer leading up towards the mountains surrounding the lake.

Having lived in New York for so long, I almost forgot what it was like taking a walk in nature. Sure we have Central Park, our little oasis in the forest of skyscrapers, but that has nothing on the vast, seemingly untouched land of Montana. Once you step off the cement path and onto the little dirt trail leading you towards a crystal clear lake, you're teleported back to a simpler time that isn't bogged down my technology or deadlines. It's just you and Mother Nature. Enjoying the quiet tranquility of nature has really helped me with coming to terms with my past and look forward to the present; so I don't get overwhelmed by the what ifs of the future.

Carver texted me three days ago letting me know that he was going to be away for a few days. The new lead photographer at National Geographic needed Carver's help with a shoot and since that was Carver's job for so many years, he felt obligated to assist. Not that I minded him being out of state for a few days, it's given me more time to think about what I want in our relationship and whether I'd rather just stay friends with him or take a leap of faith in trusting Carver with my heart.

All the silence and limited human interaction makes you start to dig up deep memories; memories that you had hoped you would have forgotten years ago, but only haunt the back of your mind as a reminder that not everything can be worked out. It's times like this where I wish I could call my parents and get my Mom's opinion on what to do, but they stopped talking to me years ago. My family is extremely conservative to the point that when you start writing fantasy stories about Gods and Goddesses that they don't believe in, they think that Satan has recruited you to sell his unholy word. My sister and brother are the only ones that will talk to me now. Even though my parents and grandparents don't approve of their contact with me the two have done nothing wrong in their eyes.

I haven't told anyone beside my writing circle - my manager Brigette, my publishing company, and a few other writers that I became close with after a meet and greet put on by our publisher - that I moved out to Montana, so my family still thinks that I'm in a big city partying away my youth and inviting the dark lord into my soul, or whatever their brainwashed minds think I'm doing.

I left that life a long time ago. When you grow up constantly having someone hovering behind you, monitoring what you read and what you create, it starts to degrade your self esteem and you begin to question if the things that you think you're interested in are good things that will lead you to a life of happiness. You wonder if all the hidden journals, full of story ideas, and banned books, rented from the library in the next town over and carefully hidden within the sleeve of a religious novel, makes lying to your parents worth it.

I had to know for myself. So, in the summer right before senior year of high school I found a writers summer camp. It was a week long adventure that delved into the depths of the mind of a writer and gave you skills to excel in any style of writing that called to you. Of course my parents would never have approved, they only ever wanted the classic dream for their oldest daughter: graduate from high school, meet a nice guy and settle down with him, pop out a few kids, and become a good, stay at home wife. But that's not what I wanted. I wanted more than to just follow in the footsteps of my mom and my grandmother before her. I'm not saying that this is a bad way to live, but it definitely wasn't the way for me and my secret writing ambitions.

So I made a fake flier, one that was for a religious camp in the same location as the Young Writer's Week. It had all the same contact information and address of the camp, but instead of talking about the power of learning and creativeness, this faux camp boasted about the power of religion and how to better your connection with the one and only important thing, that higher being. Don't get me wrong, I went to weekly sermons like everyone else in my little town and followed along with their weird, back-ass rules like the good little girl I was; so, lying to my parents and basically stealing their money so I could follow my dream was heartbreaking for me. But if this writing camp wasn't for me and it turned out that writing was more of a hobby than a career/passion, then I was ready to drop it completely and do exactly as my parents instructed. Unfortunately for my parents, my passion for writing and literature was only strengthened from my stay at the Young Writer's Week camp. That's where I created the first draft of my soon to be bestseller Phoenix Feather, the first book in my currently seven part series.

My parents were not too pleased with me when I returned. They grounded me until I turned eighteen, which was five months away at that point. However, once those months were up I packed all my belongings, pulled my savings from my family's shared bank account, and moved three states over to New York; this is where I couch surfed while I finished editing Phoenix Feather during the day and worked the late night shift at a local diner until I had enough saved up to send in my manuscript to a local New York publisher.

I got lucky, because no more than two months later I was signed on as my publisher's newest author. Once the first batch of books were printed I sent a signed copy to my parents; sadly, it returned two weeks later opened and with a very aggressive note from my mother saying that the family didn't want anything to do with me and my witchcraft books. That was the last form of communication I've ever had with my mother and father.

I try not to think about it too much because it's hard for me to understand why my family would abandon me over a simple little thing like a book. Hypothetically, when you have a child you sign yourself up for a lifetime of commitment. You decided to have that little person so that you could help them grow and love them for every decision that they make. Some of my friends back home relate it to their own family's reactions to them coming out as LGBTQ+, but I know it doesn't even compare. My disownment was based on my passion for my career choice, but for people coming out as Queer, Gay, Lesbian, etc. their families choose to turn them away because they don't approve of who their child is deep down in their soul.

Every walk I venture on into the Montana wilderness seems to dig up some part of my past that I had buried deep down in order to function in my day to day life, but now that they're resurfacing I'm faced with the choice of burying the past once again or meeting it head on and finally moving on with my life. Slowly but surely I've been working on the latter and starting to feel more like myself than I ever have in the past. Hopefully overcoming the skeletons of my past will allow me to move forward into this new chapter of my life in Montana with less baggage and less regret.